


Apocalyptic

by misura



Category: The Rock (1996)
Genre: Mild Kink, Multi, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 19:52:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18300875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Stanley decides to go against his better judgment.





	Apocalyptic

" _Again_ ," Carla said, barely five seconds after - Stanley'd always known that she would be the death of him one day, but, well, one, what a way to go and two, everyone had to die some day, didn't they?

Preferably not today, and preferably not in the process of doing his job, but Stanley pretty much figured that as a reasonable, rational human being, he could only hope for one of those. One did not become a chemical weapons specialist without achieving a deeper understanding of the general state of the world around them, which was, in technical terms, FUBAR - fucked up beyond all repair, and then some.

Running into a British secret agent who didn't exist, well, _that_ he hadn't ever counted on.

In this exact moment, it felt like a bit of a mixed blessing. Sure, Carla liked the guy, which was great, in fact, it was fantastic, because Stanley liked the guy, too, and last time he checked, there was no law against liking someone, even someone who didn't exist.

"My dear girl," Mason said.

For a guy who'd been locked up for thirty years, Mason looked damn fine. Of course, if Stanley'd wanted to, he could have looked as good. Easy. It was just - working out, weapons training, hand-to-hand combat, that sort of stuff, it took up a lot of time. Stanley knew his strengths, his talents.

Carla giggled. One of her pig-tails had come half-undone, though somehow, the uniform was still on, more or less. A little bit less than more, if you wanted to be precise about it. Still.

"I love your accent. It's so sexy. Say something else, go on."

Stanley tried to work up some jealousy, but all things considered, it seemed misplaced, to say nothing of irrational. Plenty of Mason to go around for everyone, after all, and plenty of Carla, too, it turned out.

"If you want a repeat performance, I'm afraid that you will need to give me a few moments to catch my breath. I'm not as young as I used to be, you know," Mason said.

Carla hm'ed. Stanley closed his eyes and pictured her straddling Mason, riding him, slow and sweet - or maybe not so sweet. All those FBI guys hadn't been able to break Mason, but give Carla, say, half an hour, and Stanley bet she'd have him wrapped around her little finger.

At the very least, she'd be able to get a 'please' out of him.

"Bet you're one of those guys who get better with age. A real silver fox."

"Well," Mason said, grinning up at her, "I wouldn't want to brag."

"Honey, he's been in prison for the last thirty years," Stanley said.

"Does that mean no handcuffs?" Carla asked, pouting a little. Really milking the whole pig-tails and cheerleader uniform thing, not that Stanley was complaining. Mason, he suspected, wouldn't have complained if she'd insisted they do it standing on their heads.

"That depends," Mason said. "On whom would we be putting them?"

Carla giggled again. Stanley smiled a bit, picturing Mason in handcuffs, utterly and completely at his and Carla's mercy - and they would be merciful, it went without saying. Eventually.

"Are you quite sure he's the type? He seems a bit - how shall I put this? Controlling, from time to time."

"Who, Stanley?" Carla asked, as if there were some other person she and Mason could be talking about having sex with after a judicious application of handcuffs. "Stanley's a sweetie."

"Honey, please," Stanley said.

Mason appeared to have recovered, more or less, based on Carla's movements. Stanley would have liked a better a view, but that would have required him to move, which he didn't quite feel capable of doing just yet.

Maybe he should ask Mason for some work-out tips. Nothing too mortal-combat. Small, simple stuff.

"What? You are." Carla closed her eyes, rocking gently, Mason looking up at her like he couldn't quite believe his luck. "A sweetie and a workaholic and sooo dutiful about always answering the phone."

"A good shag, though," Mason said. "Surely that makes up for a lot."

Stanley wondered whether he should be flattered or pissed off, or flattered _and_ pissed off, only then Carla said, "Stanley's the best fuck. I mean, are you kidding me?"

"Sounds like I shall have to endeavor to live up to his example," Mason said.

Carla threw her head back and moaned and Stanley realized that yup, stud number two, ready to report for duty over here. Seemed a bit rude to butt in right now, though, just when things were getting good.

"Speaking of Stanley," Mason said.

Stanley wondered if the man had eyes in the back of his head or weird mindpowers or something.

"Were you just going to watch?" Carla demanded. "Honestly, Stanley. Come over here right now. And if the phone rings, you let it ring, do you hear me? Or else I'm going to be so mad at you."

"Phones are taken care of," Mason said. He sounded a bit out of breath at least.

Stanley frowned, torn between his sense of responsibility - it might be something important, a real life-or-death situation, and he was the best, after all, and his sense that if he didn't get over to where the sexy people were this very moment, he'd be missing out of something mind-blowingly great.

" _Stanley,_ " Carla said, like she was almost there already, and Stanley decided that really, the world would probably be okay without him for the next few hours or so.


End file.
